


The King's Own Adventure

by amyfortuna



Category: Smith of Wootton Major - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-16 00:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: The King of Faery, with his Queen's blessing, ventures into the world of Men to bring healing and hope.





	The King's Own Adventure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lferion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/gifts).



They say that long ages ago, the world of Men and the world of Faery were one and the same, and the Fair Folk walked among us, lived in places near us, bought and sold goods with us, and even, rare though it was, intermarried with us. That was a time of golden days, when the sun shone in splendour down upon two fair races, and we were blessed by the presence of the Faery people on our roads and in our halls, in our marketplaces, and in our inns. 

Yet even as the summer fades into autumn and thus to winter, these golden days passed by. Men grew in power and in numbers; we uncovered new knowledge, we no longer needed to live in harmony with the land, or with the folk of Faery. They retreated, slow but sure, into their own lands, until the sight of one on roads or in halls was rare indeed, and at last no more than legend. Their land itself began to shrink from mortal sight, veiled and clouded about to protect them, until men passed by within a few inches of the borders of Faeryland and never noticed it was there. 

It is told however that the King of Faery was kind, and he loved the world of Men. In happier days he had often walked among us, incognito, giving blessings unlooked for to those he found who were generous of heart and steadfast in duty. But at the time our tale begins, he was far away in the northern marches of his kingdom, across the bitter frozen seas, there defending his realm from the Goblins and the Dark Enemy who dwelt beneath the Mountains of the North. For Faerykind have enemies we know nothing of, and the Land of Faery is not a safe place for mortals to walk. 

He was in his tent after a long day of battle, and his hair flowed down his back like a river of blood. His armour, shining silver when the day was new, was dented and stained in a hundred places, and on his face was a look of great weariness, though the battle had been won. 

In thought, he spoke with his Queen afar as she stood in her fair valley with her maidens, watching them dance. "I have lost the heart for war," he said. "I can think of nothing but my longing to wander fair roads far away, to dwell at peace, to learn and to understand the world in all of its beauty and joy. Here there is nothing of beauty and joy; there is only pain and sorrow." He took a deep breath, feeling the Queen's sympathy, soft as fleece, surrounding him. "I am sick unto death of suffering and grief, and, lady mine, I would see your face again." 

"Long has it been since we danced in the meadows together," was her reply. "Come home, my King. Leave the war to your fair and valiant Captains. This never-ending war needs you not, and in truth, you are meant for more than battle." 

So it was that the King left the war in the hands of his General, a tall Fay with long dark hair plaited with gold, who laughed as he slew the goblin hordes, who loved battle as the King did not. For all have their own desires and talents, and that General was well-placed in war, even as the King's true heart lay in wisdom and understanding. 

On his way home, the King disguised himself and turned aside into the world of Men. Many years had passed since his last adventure there, and he was surprised to find that the world of Faery had passed almost beyond knowledge, save in legend and myth. The Queen herself, once tall and fair in legend and imagination, was now conceived of as a dainty creature no taller than a handspan, and the King was forgotten altogether. 

Turning back with grief, he came into the land of Faery once again, and found his Queen in timeless halls, waiting for him. She stood, her hair shining golden-bright, crowned with flowers, and he came forward to meet her, as tall as she was, his hair shining silver in the light of many candles, a circlet of sapphire upon his brow. And it was spring then, and they took each others' hands, and great was their joy and gladness as they kissed one another in greeting. 

In the fullness of time, he told her of all his thoughts, and especially what he had seen in the world of Men. "My heart grieves that they have forgotten us," he said. "For something of Faery must remain in their world, for we are of them, and they of us, and both our races are akin, though we have drawn apart." His eyes kindled with light, and he smiled, a new thought dawning in his mind. 

"What is in your heart?" the Queen asked him. 

"Some of them should come here, should be given leave to explore our lands," he said. "And some of us venture forth from our own lands, that we may not be forgotten. For though you are but a little doll in the mind of children, you are not gone, my Queen, and from even so small a seed great things may grow." 

The King brought forth into his open hand a lump of truesilver, gleaming bright in the candlelight. And the Queen smiled her approval. She leaned forward and breathed upon it, and lo! it was changed into a star, light and fair, shining in the hand of the King. "Go forth, my lord, with my blessing," she said. 

The King bowed to her, and ventured forth, clothing his majesty in disguise, but leaving visible his Fay nature, that all who saw him might know he came from Faery. He appeared as tall as a man, and his shoulder-length hair was raven-dark. 

Near the borders of the Land of Faery in one place there was a town called Wootton Major, and as the King of Faery was walking through the village, he heard singing, sweet but unutterably sad, and his heart went out to the singer. He approached the house where the voice could be heard, and through the open kitchen door he could see a man kneading dough, and as he worked, he sang a song of sorrow and of death come too soon. 

The King of Faery wept for him, a tear falling from his eye, and he must have made some soft noise, for the singer turned, his voice ceasing, and saw him there, looking inward, and gathered himself quickly. 

"Forgive my grief, good stranger!" he said, deftly turning the dough into loaf tins for a second rising, and spreading a snow-white cloth over them. He quickly washed his hands clean of flour and dried them on another cloth. The King approached, stepping into the kitchen. 

"Why do you grieve?" he said. The man took another look, and gave a slight gasp. 

"I see that you are of Faery," he said. "Have I caused that tear?" He reached out, touching the King's cheek, bringing the tear away on the tip of his finger, where it shimmered for a moment, and then melted away into his skin. 

The King reached out in turn, and took the man's hand. "In Faery there is healing for grief," he said. "Only tell me who you are, and why you grieve." 

The man took a shuddering breath. "I am Rob Rider," he said, "the Master Cook of this village, and I grieve my wife. Twenty-five long years she has been gone, and I miss her still. I am alone now since my daughter's marriage, and I miss my Rose all the more." 

The King bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Come with me," he said. "Call it a holiday, and come with me to the Land of Faery, where you will find your long-lost joy once more. For you, I see, were not always sorrowful. In the mists of the Outer Mountains there is a secret pond, and he who bathes in that pond has the joy of his early days restored to him. Come with me, and in return, I ask that you take me as your apprentice when you return, and teach me how to cook." 

So Rob Rider went with the King, leaving Ella his daughter, the mother of a certain future Smith Smithson, as the cook for the village. Together they travelled far into the land of Faery, deep into the heart of the Outer Mountains to find the Pool of Joy. The King's tear protected the man from small dangers, and the King himself was with him, to guard against the greater ones. 

When at last they reached the Pool of Joy, the King left Rob Rider alone there. For joy is unique to each person, and healing from grief is oft best found in solitary peace. He climbed up the mountain to the very summit, and looked out across the land to the Great Sea and the fires of his soldiers keeping watch on the Dark Enemy in the lands beyond. 

The bright song of his General rang out across the Sea to him, and the fierce joy he took in his dark task was plain to see. Smiling, the King left him to it, and turned again, to face the inner heart of his realm, and to meet in thought with his Queen. 

"Lady," he said, "I shall not see your face for a little while, for my heart is set on the world of Men for a time. For a little time, a few years, a lifetime of Men as they call it."

"Beloved," she returned, "near or far, my thought is with thee." He pressed a hand to the star in his pocket, and thought for a while of many things, great and small. 

At last he took on a new form. He became a young boy, his brown hair cut short like a child's. As he ventured down the mountain, he learned the ways of living in such a young body, so like to a mortal's body. He would grow at the rate of mortals, become older with time, feel even as they did, until the day when he returned to his Queen. 

It was night when he returned to the Pool of Joy, and Rob Rider lay asleep under a great tree, its branches reaching down to enfold and protect him. The King smiled, and in his new form, settled down to watch beside him, until he should awake. 

When the dawn came, and Rob stirred, a smile that showed his new-awakened joy passing over his face, the King waited patiently while he sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and gathered his thoughts. 

At last the King spoke. "Call me Alf," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> The full name of the Master Cook, his wife, and his daughter (and his general backstory) were found in the 2015 Verlyn Flieger edition of _Smith of Wootton Major_ , which contains some of Tolkien's draft material for the story that had not been previously published.


End file.
